


always on your way out

by colonellaurens



Series: you're an open book but i can't read you [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Making Out, Pining Lance (Voltron), Sexual Tension, Sparring, blowjob, except he doesn't know he has a huge crush on his alleged "rival", i think this is like season 3, soft reassurance, they're just soft but they think the other hates him, this one is from lance's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 16:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16957716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonellaurens/pseuds/colonellaurens
Summary: Keith is so bad with words. Well, no, okay, he’s pretty clever, I’ll give him that. But I’d never tell him that. He just sucks at saying how he’s feeling. It’s kind of hard to know if you’re doing something right when you’re basically going down on a brick wall.I think I know how to read him. But maybe I’m wrong.Because that night, he was so...gentle. And smug.





	always on your way out

**Author's Note:**

> hmm! i guess this is a series now. my finals are all done and im not ready for voltron s8

He’s never soft. He’s impatient and impulsive, which I can totally jive with, y’know? I’m pretty impulsive, myself. I don’t think the word “soft” could ever  _ fit _ Keith. Well, I didn’t think so until now.

The other night (or was it a week ago? — Do they call them “movements” in space?? — I don’t remember how long ago it was) when we were on the planet with the red trees, he  _ really _ took his time. And he usually tells me to shut up! He says it’s because he doesn’t want the team to know (and when this all started I agreed), but part of me doesn’t want to care if the team knows we’re doing...things. Stuff. But he didn’t say anything this time, and that makes me really confused.

I mean, yeah, I made him hot cocoa, but only because I could tell he wanted some! It’s the best thing to drink when it’s raining outside.

Definitely not because I like him. Nope! The guy’s an asshole!

(I know how he likes his hot cocoa, so yeah, I spent a little extra time making it pretty, but that’s not my fault! I didn’t want him to  _ scowl _ at me for the rest of the night.)

Still, I can’t believe I didn’t notice how close we’re getting. One moment, he’s a dropout and my sworn enemy and I want to beat him at  _ everything. _ Everything was a competition. I couldn’t just let him one-up me constantly, how embarrassing! But the next, we’re...something. I don’t know what we are. I think we’re in a weird sort of friends-with-benefits situation. I think this might have started when we smuggled some space alcohol back onto the ship. I was trying to swipe a bottle when no one was looking, except  _ he _ was there trying to get a bottle of his own!

I almost snitched on him. I  _ so _ could have. Finally get Shiro to take my side! But that would have made me a hypocrite. And I wanted some of that space booze.

Instead, we looked at each other with a knowing glance. There was mischief in his eyes. He had the sense to bring a drawstring bag with him, and I had my hoodie. We wrapped the bottles in my hoodie so they wouldn’t make any noise (his idea).

We brought at least five bottles of weird fermented space juice back to the castle that night. I remember how we snuck away from the party that was thrown in our honor (usually I’d stay and chit-chat with the ladies, but I had more  _ pressing matters _ to attend to). He told me I was walking too loud. I said he was being  _ really _ suspect. (And he was!)

We went back to my room and drank a bottle between the two of us. Then I realized how  _ unfairly pretty _ he was, and, I don’t know,  _ one of us _ leaned in and we kissed. And kissed again. Fuck it, we made out, okay?

(We avoided each other for weeks after that.)

(Allura made us do a bonding exercise until we “got over it.”)

Keith is  _ so _ bad with words. Well, no, okay, he’s pretty clever, I’ll give him that. But I’d never tell him that. He just sucks at saying how he’s feeling. It’s kind of hard to know if you’re doing something right when you’re basically going down on a brick wall.

I think I know how to read him. But maybe I’m wrong.

Because that night, he was so... _ gentle. _ And smug. He knows what I like because I  _ communicate, _ unlike  _ some people. _ I had to learn to read him.

It’s funny. He’s really subtle about the way he feels. But sometimes it’s not very subtle. He’s usually so cool and so  _ Keith _ that I forget there’s probably a lot going on in his head. Which is why it was so surprising to see him slow down for a change, act like I wasn’t going to bolt if he didn’t touch me constantly.

Does he like it slow?

Maybe he does. It would make sense. 

(I make a mental note to take it slow when I have the chance. To test my hypothesis!)

And sometimes, he just sort of...smiles at me. I don’t know, it makes me feel all fluttery inside. Butterflies? Yeah. Maybe. I think I might have made him a big softie in bed. Now  _ he’s _ the one insisting we cuddle.

(And he saw me cry. That’s embarrassing, but...he was so gentle about it? He wiped my tears away? It’s weird. Keith is weird.)

I must be thinking really hard because I don’t even realize that I’ve run into Keith until he’s there, scowling at me. It feels a little convenient. I flash him a grin.

“Careful there, mullet. You’ll get wrinkles if you frown so much,” I tease. It’s easy to get a rise out of him that I can’t help it sometimes. Maybe I’m doing this on purpose because I want something. (He does. Want something, that is. He always does.)

I swear he makes a point of scowling  _ more _ after I say that. “Watch where you’re going,” he says. Chastising. (That’s new. He’s usually really snappy with me.) I take a moment to look him up and down. He’s in his typical  _ Cool Guy Keith™️ _ outfit. Dark grey t-shirt, that weird utility belt he’s always wearing, that cropped red jacket, his fingerless leather biker gloves (of course), the black pants that really  _ accentuate _ his legs (and his ass. Not that I’m looking, but I totally am). It’s weird how he makes it work,  _ especially  _ with that mullet. It’s like some 80’s wet dream. Why am I hooking up with him again? The guy probably sleeps with a knife under his pillow.

“Where you headed?” I ask. Conversationally. (And also because I want to know where he’s storming off to this time.) Where was  _ I _ going before I ran into this beautiful mop of hair? I can’t remember. 

“Training deck.”

“Oh?”

I’ve seen Keith train before. It makes a guy’s pants a little tight. He could beat me up, and I know it. (Hell, he could punch me in the face and I’d still grin at him.) He has his way with a sword (haha, wink). He might be a subpar shooter, but he can hold his own when it comes down to it.

There’s a glint of something in his eye. It looks like he’s scheming. I bet he is. He thinks he has me in his clutches just because he sucked my dick last week — ha! Think again, Keithster. I’m always on my toes — there’s no way he’s beating me at anything. I can’t give him that satisfaction!

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is like velvet against my ears. (Velvet? Did I  _ really _ just think that? Ugh, who am I turning into?) “I was thinking of doing some hand-to-hand combat.”

It’s a challenge. It has to be. The way he crosses his arms and sits into his hip? It’s gotta be, even if he’s not smiling. I cross my arms too.

“Really? All by your lonesome, Mr. Lone Wolf?”

Then he meets my eyes and it’s all I can do to not wither away under his gaze. He’d never let me live it down. He looks at everything like it personally insulted him.

“Actually,” he says, “I was thinking you could join me.”

“To what, fight against the bots?”

“Against  _ each other, _ Lance,” he says my name like he’s gritting his teeth. I think he’s grinding his teeth. I want to tell him to stop, but I don’t.

“Kinky,” I say. I’m joking, of course, but it’s fun to watch him squirm (which he does). “I’m DTF — down to fight!”

I can practically  _ hear _ his eye roll. But I don’t stick around to look for it. Instead, I start in the direction of the training deck, my hands leisurely laced together behind my neck. I don’t hear him follow.

“You coming, or what?”

He grumbles something under his breath and starts after me, and I make a point of swaying my hips, give him a little show. Couldn’t hurt to tempt him when he was  _ totally _ staring at my ass a second ago. His footsteps are quieter than mine. I guess they always have been. Maybe he’s careful about the way he walks. I wouldn’t know. (Or maybe I would. I don’t know.) The way his feet seem to scurry to fall into step with me makes me grin.

It’s on.

***

He beats my ass.

That’s an understatement. He’s brought me to my knees more times than I can count, and  _ not _ in the fun way. I probably have a bruise forming on the side of my knee when he parried one of my punches and  _ kicked it. _ It hurt like  _ hell.  _ Who does that?! He’s playing dirty. That’s all he knows how to do.

I’m pretty ruffled up but he still looks really cool. Even through the sheen of sweat on his skin. Fuck it,  _ especially _ with the sheen of sweat. It kind of makes me want to die how much I want to make out with him. He’s kicking ass, not getting some!

I get up for the millionth time, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. It makes him  _ smirk! _ I can’t believe he has the  _ audacity _ to do that when I’m standing literally right here!

“What, you haven’t had enough yet?”

Oh my god. What a dick.

“You’ll know when I’ve had enough, Keith,” I shoot back with a wink. There’s a double meaning there that I hope throws him off his rhythm. Then I get back into a fighting stance. There’s an air of tense anticipation around us as we essentially stare at each other, waiting for the first move. I could stand here all day. He always makes the first move.

I anticipate it when he comes at me. My eyes dart back and forth and, like I expected, he comes at me with a right hook. I try to remember all the fighting classes I took when I was younger. It’s not about strength, it’s about technique. That’s how the smallest guy could beat the biggest guy in a hand-to-hand combat situation.

I move to dodge the hit — he anticipates this — but he doesn’t realize that I use the force of his charge to flip him onto his back until it’s too late. I grab his right wrist and use the motion to duck and make him follow through with the movement over my back. It’s like he wasn’t expecting it. And maybe he wasn’t. I bet he wasn’t. Now  _ I’m _ smug.

He’s on his back on the floor behind me. He’s staring at the ceiling. I can see his mind working out what happened. I stand proudly with my hands on my hips.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen!” I lament. I take the time to laugh and I throw my head back. Oh man, I’m never gonna let him live this d—

Wait, now  _ I’m _ on my back?????? There’s a solid pain on the side of my left knee ( _ again, _ because that’s where he kicked me earlier). God, my head feels like it’s all shoved to the back of my head, it makes me squeeze my eyes shut. The ground feels nice and cool. I could stay here forever. I’m groaning in pain before I realize it and I hear a snicker above me. My eyes crack open a bit and I see  _ Keith _ standing above me with a smug look on his face. I groan again, but louder. He’s holding his hand out to me so I take it and he heaves me off the ground.

He lifts me up like it’s nothing and suddenly we’re pressed against each other. He doesn’t move away. Neither do I. Our hands are still clutched together between us and I can feel the heat radiating off his body. He’s breathing hard, eyes darting all over my face. They settle on my lips and I can feel his other arm snaking its way around my waist. I gulp. He almost  _ never _ initiates. Fuck. Just the thought is making me half-hard in my jeans. He’s leaning in now, and my eyes flutter shut.

But alas, twas not meant to be! Because the next thing I know, my arm is twisted painfully behind my back and he’s brought me to my knees.  _ Again. _

I turn my head to glare up to him — the guy has the nerve to be  _ smug _ about it. He’s even  _ grinning! _

“That’s cheating!” I say to him. He’s not letting me go.

“The Galra cheat all the time. You’re just exceptionally distractible.”

I struggle against his grip and shoot him a pout instead. That usually works against him, right? “Yeah, but  _ you’re  _ not the Galra. How could you do this to me, your —” I hesitate. His  _ what? _ I’m not his boyfriend, or at least I don’t think I am. He’s never called us that. I bet he still hates me and just tolerates me long enough to get off. I tell myself I don’t mind.

“— your best  _ friend,” _ I decide on, emphasis on the word  _ friend. _ I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

Except he frowns and lets me go without any warning; I almost fall flat on my face!

“Hey!” I shout indignantly.

He shrugs. “Hey yourself.” I can’t read the look on his face. I scramble to my feet and take a step towards him. He takes a step back, like we’re dancing.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” he answers too quickly.

Now I’m the one frowning. I cross my arms and take a step towards him. “What’s up, man? You don’t have to lie to me.”

He looks pained for a second. Was it something I said? Part of me wants to kiss that look off of his face, and the other part of me wants to kick  _ him _ in the side of the knee to see how  _ he _ likes it. I hate seeing that. It probably wasn’t me. I think I know what’s on his mind.

So instead, I pull him into a hug. He stiffens, but I can feel him tentatively relax. He’s breathing deeply into my chest, but still tense.

“Hey,” I say. “You don’t need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’s okay.” It’s something my mom said to me once. She hugged me to her chest, like how I’m hugging Keith. I lower my voice into something that’s soothed my younger cousins before. “Black chose you. Remember how I was up there for a while, and he  _ still _ wouldn’t budge?” It’s embarrassing, but I think it helps. He huffs in what I think is laughter.

“I know you didn’t want this.” I hold him out at arm’s length to look him in the eye. So he knows I’m not bullshitting him. “It’s okay to think you’re not leading Voltron correctly, but honestly? None of us could do better than you.

“You’re not Shiro. You’re too stubborn.” I smile at him and he rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s trying not to at least chuckle at that. 

“Well, that’s reassuring,” he deadpans.

I ignore him. “But also, none of us are Shiro. Can you imagine being that perfect? Like jeez, talk about those  _ arms _ and that  _ buff frame _ that could snap me like a twig.”

That gets him to laugh. It sounds like it’s full of emotion, but I pretend not to notice. This...I think this is what he needs right now. He needs some good ol’ TLC, and I’m willing to give it to him. It should be weird how much I’m willing to give, but it’s not. He deserves more than he thinks.

“Gross, Lance,” he says, and I laugh.

“What? I’m not gay.”

He raises his eyebrows at me, unimpressed.

“I’m kidding,” I say with a wink.  _ “You’re _ the only one I’d let snap me like a twig, anyway.”

I can see the blood rush to his face and he pretends that he’s not reacting at all. He just pouts (it’s  _ definitely _ a pout) and he says, “Why would I want to do that?”

“Keith. Oh my god. I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

He meets my eyes and raises an unimpressed brow. My hands are on his shoulders. I move one to gently cup his jaw. He leans into it. God, he’s so touch-starved.

“Please respond, I showed you my dick.”

“Oh my god, shut up,  _ Lance! _ Gross.” His cheeks redden. I grin.

“Make me.”

There’s a moment of silence. I think I know what he’s thinking when he purses his lips — he’s trying to decide if it’s worth it to kiss me or not. I hope he does. Maybe I’ll kiss him first if he’s too much of a coward to decide. I can see him wet his lips and he takes a moment to look me up and down. I realize with a start —  _ I’m still a little hard. _ My stomach twists pleasantly and I  _ really _ hope he makes the first move.

Then he looks up at me with a new sort of fire in his eyes, and he wordlessly takes the hand on his jaw in his and starts to pull me out of the training deck. He mostly grabs my wrist. I don’t mind.

He’s pulling me in the direction of his room (of course) and I feel hot all over. My pace quickens to keep up with his (which is far too fast to be considered normal) and I feel a sort of restlessness fall onto my shoulders. Is he going to kiss me in the hallway? No, I know he won’t — he’s paranoid about Allura or Coran looking at the security camera feed only to see us making out on the way to his room.

Actually, I can understand that.

He lets go of my wrist as I keep in step with him. We’re rounding corners faster than I can figure out the fastest route to his room (he knows the castle like the back of his hand, apparently) and it’s not too long until we reach his room. He puts his hand against the pad beside the door and I’m standing too close as the door hisses open. Then he pulls me in.

He’s on me in a second. I don’t even have time to look at his room before he’s kissing me like he needs it more than anything in the world. I’m pinned against the door with one of Keith’s legs between mine and I can feel his hands anywhere he can reach. It’s not long until I’m pulling him closer to me, grabbing the front of his shirt, carding a hand through his hair. He’s breathing hard and I feel him pull me closer by the belt loops on my jeans. It’s hot. I can feel how hard he is already.

See, this would be the part with the freeze frame and record scratch, and you’d hear my voiceover say “Yeah, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here.” But that’s just a passing thought and I’m enjoying this too much to care.

One of my hands trails down his side and grabs his ass like it’s my only lifeline. I hear a barely-suppressed groan at the back of his throat as I pull him close enough for him to grind on my leg. Like we’re a couple of teenagers. (We kind of are, but you know what I mean.)

Then he’s trailing kisses down to my neck, where the marks he left the last time are mostly faded away. (I had to go through so much foundation to cover this up. Asshole.) He’s giving me these open-mouth kisses that sear my skin and one of his hands is on my hip, thumbing over my hipbone. I think he likes doing that. He does it a lot.

He doesn’t leave any marks this time (boo) as he pulls away. I get a really good look at him. His eyes are hungry. The hand I had in his hair makes it stick up every which way. It’s kind of cute. (Gross, Lance. Keith isn’t cute. Impossible.)

The next thing I know, he’s pulling me further into his room, kissing me again with the ferocity that I’m used to. This? This is how Keith operates. He’s never about soft touches or a gentle brush of lips against skin. It’s always bruising kisses, sharp teeth, and rough caresses. I don’t know what made him so soft the other day. I know he’s just here for the sex. He’s gotta be, right? Like yeah, okay, he likes to cuddle, he sends me fond looks when he thinks I’m not looking, and it feels like I’m the person he’s been opening up to more and more, and —

Oh fuck.

Does he like me? Is that possible?

...Do  _ I _ like  _ him? _

Oh no. I think I might die.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, and it snaps me back into the moment. He’s looking at me with a look of slight worry on his face and the hand on my cheek is far too gentle to be the Keith that was just shoving his tongue down my throat. It feels like someone’s squeezing my heart. Is this what a crush is supposed to feel like????

“Nothing,” I say, but my voice cracks. I clear my throat. “Nothing at all.”

He doesn’t look too convinced.

“Do you want to continue?” he asks, and  _ fuck _ that’s so considerate that it makes my chest feel tight with an emotion I really don’t want to name.

“God — yes, Keith. I never wanted to stop.” And it’s true. With him, I’d rather die than stop (unless he wanted to). 

He smiles,  _ relieved, _ I think.

I’m trying to ignore my  _ very inconvenient _ revelation as I pull him towards his bed. The sheets always smell like him. Quiznack, I think I might really die. I’m overdosing on Keith right now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Ready to snap me like a twig?” I’m joking mostly, but I kind of want him to initiate. A little. We’ve never really gone  _ all the way _ but I don’t know if that’s because we’re not there yet or if we’re just cowards. (I think about it sometimes. Gets me through lonely nights.)

“I think I know how to shut you up,” he says, and I feel a ball of heat shoot between my legs. Fuck. He’s the one grinning now (asshole) because he knows that I know what he’s implying.

But I play dumb. “Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, the right one. It’s the one I can move independently.

He gives me a  _ look _ then — it gives me goosebumps — and he leans against the wall with his arms crossed. Scheming bastard.

“Yeah.” His voice is deep. I don’t know if it’s on purpose but  _ holy shit _ I didn’t even know that was a _ thing _ for me! I eye the obvious bulge in his pants (he watches me), and it’s like some otherworldly force guides me to my knees in front of Keith. The bulge in his pants. I know what he wants. I’ll gladly give.

I look up at him through my lashes (that’s a thing, right?) and I can see his Adam’s apple bob. My fingers hover over his thighs, barely touching them. He’s really,  _ really _ impatient today, so he takes the liberty of unbuttoning his own pants and letting me do the rest. I’m impatient too, so I don’t waste time being slow when I let his pants fall in a pool around his ankles. He steps out of them. I look up at him again and that  _ totally cool _ mask he has on is gone. He wants this.  _ I _ want this. I slip his underwear off with ease. 

Now listen, I didn’t think that size really mattered at  _ all _ when I dove into this. But Keith’s dick is, like, bigger than mine and that’s not fair. It’s not allowed. (I’m into it.) It’s sticking right out at me, like it could poke my eye out. I deliberately ignore it for the time being because I want to kiss along that tender little spot where his thighs meet his hips. The skin there is soft and sensitive, so I’m gentle. Gentle by Keith’s standards, anyways. My fingers are pressing into his thighs as I leave little kisses here and there, this way and that. His skin is salty and warm and so undeniably  _ Keith.  _ I decide to leave a little mark just above his hipbone for him to find later. It’s all about the little things, y’know?

He’s bracing himself against the wall. His hands are there too. I wish he’d put them in my hair.

I let that thought go and I finally pay attention to his painfully hard, leaking cock. I hold it loosely in one of my hands, give it a few strokes. Then I’m licking the little bead of precum away, looking up at his face in what I hope is a hot gesture. I make a show of it. I couldn’t care for the taste but I know he thinks it’s hot. (Keith can’t resist all of this!) He clenches his fists against the wall and when I put the tip in my mouth, his eyes screw shut. He’s already breathing fast. I get impatient of waiting for  _ him _ to put a hand in my hair that I grab one off the wall and settle it on the top of my head. He looks a little surprised, like he didn’t know this was allowed.

Uh, duh! I can’t pull his hair like it’s my only lifeline when he’s going down on me but not let him even  _ touch _ me when it’s the other way around. Absolutely not. I  _ want  _ him to touch me.  _ I want. _

And so does he, because the next thing I know, the hand that’s now gripping my hair is easing me down. It’s more of a suggestion, and I happily oblige. I take him as far as I can comfortably manage (which is most of the way, I am proud to say). I grip his thighs. It mostly just gives me something to hold onto. I can feel the tension of pleasure under the surface and when I glance up, I find that he’s looking down at me through his bangs with a plea in his eyes.

I close my eyes and wrap a hand around what my mouth can’t reach. Then I start moving. The reaction I get is immediate — he sags against the wall and I hear a soft thump. I look up and I can see that his eyes are screwed shut and his head is tilted back against the wall. I resist the urge to smile. That wouldn’t make for a very good blow job.

When I sink down again, I try to keep going until my nose brushes against his curly pubic hair. I just barely manage to suppress my gag reflex (something I’ve been getting better at since we started this), tears well up in my eyes, and I think I’m drooling, but that’s not really important — especially with how his hand tightens in my hair and the way his breath stutters. I don’t think he realizes that he’s basically holding me there, but I don’t mind. It’s worth it. I flatten one of my hands over his stomach — under his shirt — and the other one wanders up and down his thigh. I don’t know if he likes these little touches. It’s hard to tell when he can’t exactly lean into it or sigh contentedly, which is how I usually find out what he likes. All his signs of pleasure are jumbled up, anyways. 

But he doesn’t tell me to stop and he doesn’t swat my hands away, so I think it’s...not bad, at least.

I think he realizes that he’s holding me in place because all of a sudden, the grip in my hair loosens considerably, and I pull back until just the tip (haha,  _ just the tip _ ) is in my mouth. The hand that’s on his thigh moves to cover the rest and at the same time, I swirl my tongue around the head. I do what I think he does when he’s going down on me, and it must work  _ wonders _ because I feel his hips stutter a bit, like he was about to fuck my throat but stopped himself before he could get started.

Would I let him do that? Maybe. It depends. I’ll have to think about it.

But I take the hint and I swallow him down again for a moment, then I come back up with my hand close behind, twisting my wrist, and I do it again and again until I feel his stomach clenching and his fingernails scratch against my head like he’s petting a dog; I’ve got this rhythm established and when I chance a look up, I almost die right there.

It almost looks like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open to watch me, lips parted, cheeks flushed in pleasure. He’s got one hand in my hair and the other braced against the wall. I want to grab it. I do. I want to hold his hand while I get him off.

Is that gay? Well, like, obviously yeah, but I mean  _ romantically _ gay. Like he’s my boyfriend or something and this is just another evening at home together while dinner cooks on the stove. We’re waiting for the  _ frijoles _ to be ready so we can make the broth and add the meat and save the eggs for last. Because we’re making black bean soup. It’s my mom’s recipe. I’d cut the cilantro and onions and he’d make fun of me for tearing up. But I wouldn’t be mad about it, because I know he’d be tearing up too.

Oh god. It makes my chest tight. It’s my favorite soup, and the thought of making it with someone I care about is enough to make me unbelievably happy, because  _ that’ll be me one day. _

I just didn’t think it’d be Keith.

I reach for his hand anyway. It just  _ feels right. _ I don’t know. But he probably thinks the same thing because he doesn’t hesitate in weaving our fingers together and holding on tight. I don’t stop what I’m doing.

I can feel more than hear the pleasure coming off of him in waves. He’s trembling and he’s making these soft noises that I’ve never heard him make before. It’s equal parts hot and adorable. Is that even allowed? It’s like he’s trying to keep quiet, but since both of his hands are occupied, he can’t hide them.

My knees are complaining to me and my jaw is getting a little sore, but I keep going because I know he’s close. I can tell by now. It’s not a shock to me when he chokes out my name and some other words that I can’t understand before he’s coming into my mouth, all hot and bitter and salty. It shocks my throat though, and I gag. Just a little bit. But I don’t think he notices.

He’s breathing like he just swam a marathon, gasping in these shuddering breaths as I can see the waves of pleasure wash over him. He slides out of my mouth, and I’m quick to stand up and keep him from toppling over. My knees almost buckle under me and I feel sort of like a baby deer, but I manage. He’s not looking at me. His eyes are mostly closed but I can see him lean forward to bump his forehead into mine. He whispers something. I think he says “thank you” but that wouldn’t be right. I don’t try to understand.

Keith leans up and presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. It surprises me because, again, Keith is  _ not _ gentle like this. He never really has been. I don’t know what to make of it. My chest feels warm, like it’s glowing, and I know it has something to do with Keith. It’s always something to do with him.

He can hardly keep his eyes open. It’s adorable. He looks a little silly with just his shirt on and those fingerless biker gloves. His pants are pooled in a forgotten heap on the floor next to us and his legs are completely bare. It’s equal parts hot, silly, and cute. (Okay, yeah, fuck it. Keith can be cute.)

He runs a hand through his hair and he frowns. Well, no, it’s more of a pout. I look at him with a question in my eyes and he grunts in response.

“Shower?” he mumbles. It makes me smile. He looks up and me and he smiles too, but it’s not so innocent. There’s a glint in his eyes as he trails one of his hands down my side, over my stomach, further down to —  _ oh _ I’m still very much hard in my pants and he knows it.

“Yeah,” I say, breathlessly. My voice is hoarse. “Yeah. Shower’s —  _ yeah. _ Let’s do that.”

Then  _ he _ smiles and kisses me sweetly (it makes my heart race in a  _ totally different _ way). It’s soft and slow, with all the languidness of a man who just came down my throat.

He pulls away and starts leading me to his bathroom, and I’m wondering what the  _ hell  _ I got myself into. Was this what I signed up for when we kissed for the first time?

But then he’s tugging my clothes off and leading me into the shower, and I find I don’t really care. I think I  _ like _ this. This is…better. Somehow.

I think he likes me. I’ll have to tease him about that later. 


End file.
